Glory and Gore
by halfbreedprincess
Summary: Glory and Gore go hand in hand. A story of how Baseball Bat Man, Hammer Girl, and the Assassin found solace in Bejo's side, while leaving trail of destruction in their path. Inspired by Lorde's Glory and Gore


_There's a humming in the restless summer air_  
_And we're slipping off the course that we prepared_

Run.

I keep running, despite the protest from my battered body. I keep running, even though my limbs threaten to give out. I keep running, because that's all that I can do.

Behind me, Alicia struggles to keep up. Her legs maybe longer than mine, but she doesn't have my stamina, and with a soft tug at my arm, she gains my attention. My eyes immediately fall to the large gash on her right eye, and I grit my teeth when angers cloud my thoughts. But I push it aside, because right now, I need to focus.

_A little bit more,_ I told her in sign language. _Just a little bit more, and we'll be okay. _

She nods, and I squeeze her hand before we start running again. We take a sharp turn, and stop dead on our track when we see the group of goons in front of us. Those goons were facing another man, so I cautiously take a step back. But luck is not on my side, because I bump into Alicia, who lost her balance and fall into the ground with a soft thud. Still, the sound is loud enough to attract the goons' attention.

Some of them turn back, and in that moment my eyes meet the man they're facing. He had his shades on despite the nighttime, and appears to be leaning on a cane. While the goons are focuses on me and Alicia, the stranger stealthily sheaths a sword from his cane and gives me a small nod. In a split second, we reach an understanding, and I plant my feet firmly on the ground, taking a fighting stance as I tightens my grips on my baseball bat. Alicia cowered behind me, and I make a solemn promise to protect her, even if cost me my life. Never again, will I let any harm befall her. I will not let any of those men lay a hand on her.

As the first goon run towards me with a knife, the man with the shades charges on the nearest goons. A full fight breaks out, but I'm ready. I easily dodges the upcoming knife while swinging my bat right onto the attacker's stomach, hearing the satisfying sound of the aluminum bat meeting it's target. More men come at me and Alicia, but I let myself loose and depend entirely on my instinct, utilizing my small build and agility to dodges every upcoming attacks while landing fatal blows one after another. To protect Alicia.

There were too many of them though, and I'm already worn out. A particulary violent punch comes from my blind side and I lands on my back. Smirking in triumph, a goon lifts his feet to kick me, but Alicia takes the hit. A strangled scream escapes my throat when she falls to the ground like a lifeless doll, and without thinking I throw myself over her, shielding her from the upcoming attack.

But it never comes.

Instead the goon makes a choked sound before falling into the ground with blood oozing out of the wound in his stomach. I struggle to hoist myself up, still holding Alicia's body against me as the man clean his blade before putting it back inside his cane. His eyes scan us, but his face shows no emotion. Suddenly, he reaches down and takes Alicia.

"Fuck-"

"Let's go," he says.

_But in all chaos, there is calculation_  
_Dropping glasses just to hear them break _

I eye him warily as he lays Alicia unconscious body on the bed. He puts his cane away and takes off his shades, his eyes never leaving Alicia as he takes out a medic box from his bedside table. He tends to the gash in her eyes in silence, before pulling away. He looks at me, as if he's pondering something.

"I need to cut her dress so I can fix her other wounds," he address me placidly, taking out a cutter from his jacket pocket. Something caught on my throat, but I force myself to nods. There's nothing that I can do but to trust him now. Still, I keep a tight hold on my baseball bat, ready to attack if he makes even the slightest inappropriate moves.

"Is she okay?" I croak, and he doesn't even glance at me as he nods.

"There's a little bruises here and there, and some old wounds are reopening. But aside from the gash in her eyes, she's alright."

"Her eyes..."

"She'll lose most of her vision in that eye."

I close my eyes, can't help but to clench my fist in anger because I remember. I remember coming home after baseball practice to found Alicia being beaten to pulp by him, the man who's supposed to be our dad. I remember swinging my baseball bat at him, hitting his stomach and shoulder over and over again. I remember turning my back and dropping to my knees to help Alicia on his feet. I remember Alicia's silent warning as she pushes me away and take the stab that was supposed to be aimed at me. I remember his knife slicing Alicia's face. I remember her soundless agonized scream. I remember the crunching sound as my baseball bat come in contact with his skull. I remember doing whatever I can to give her eyes a first aid. I remember pulling her hand and urging her to run because his friends will come soon and they won't be happy to see him dead.

"She's okay now."

I look up at him, my eyes meeting his calm orbs, and I can only nods numbly after checking over Alicia. He assesses my condition for a while, before kneeling in front of me. I hiss when he nabs cotton soaked in alcohol at the cuts in my cheek, but otherwise I keep my silent, only watching him as he takes care of my minor wounds.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen." I don't know why I tell him, but something urges me to. I owe him that much.

"And your sister?"

"Twelve."

"She's a bit too gaunt for a twelve years old girl, isn't she?" He studies my face as I keeps my silence, and then says. "I'm Bejo."

It takes me some time before I give him a reply. "She's Alicia."

"And you?"

I only shake my head. I don't need my name. I don't need to remember the name that useless piece of shit gave me. I don't need anything related to him.

"I see." Bejo stands up, and he hands me a pair of fresh clothes from his closet. "You can take a bath before you go to bed."

"I'm sorry?"

"Take a bath," he slowly says. "And then go to bed. The two of you are staying here tonight."

I swallow, hard. "We'll leave as soon as the sun rises."

"No, you're not going anywhere," he pauses. "Because you're staying here. The two of you." "That was impressive, your skill with that baseball bat of yours. And I like you, Baseball Boy." A cryptic smile lights up his face, even if just barely. "Stay here. I would provide for you and your sister, as long as you're willing to lend me a hand."

"You can decide tomorrow morning. Take your time," he says as he walks out the door. My eyes instantly flew over to the other side of the room, where he leaves his cane, and then back to the door. Ten minutes passed, and there's no sign of him coming back. He really leaves his cane with us, indicating his trust.

Slowly, I get up from my seat and get to the shower. Sighing in bliss, I could feel the tension leaving my muscles as the hot water washes over my sore body. But not the doubts.

Should I accept his offer? Bejo does seems amicable, and this far, he hasn't mean any harm to us. He does treat Alicia's wounds...

But can we trust him?

Still pondering my choices, I walk back into the bedroom while zipping up the hoodie that Bejo left for me. _It's warm_, I absentmindedly think as I look at Alicia, at the bandages on her eyes. My heart clenches as I remember her painful time growing up under the care of our supposed dad that hated her guts just because of her impaired hearing. But now she looks so peaceful, tucked under that warm blanket.

_She's safe. _

And as I slid under the blanket next to her, feeling her instinctively snuggles closer to me, I let it sink in my mind.

_We're safe. _

_Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)_  
_God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way)_

Bejo walks in silently, his Assassin following close behind. They footstep makes no sound as they walks closer to the middle of the room, where his Baseball Boy is currently teaching Alicia some silat moves. It's been roughly six months since he welcomed the siblings, and they have considerably warmed up to him. Alicia no longer cowers at his presence, and the boy would actually listen to him instead of debating each and every word he said.

The siblings start sparing, and he watches Alicia's graceful moves with cold interest. She looks healthier, but she still has this frail air around her. He supposes it can't be helped, considering she lived most of her life under the care of an abusive father that would hit her just for being in the same room as him. However, he had noticed that whenever she's start fighting, she looks alive.

His Baseball Boy grunts in surprise when Alicia aims a spin kick at his neck, and when he tries to fend against it, she sweeps his legs, making him fall. She sits on his chest, elbows posed to deliver a final blow, and they both know she wins. But what catches Bejo's eyes is her flushed cheek, and the sparks in her eyes as she get off her brother and help him up.

"Alicia," he calls, and his Baseball Boy turns around, making her turn around afterwards. "Spare against him."

The boy slits his eyes, but keeps his mouth shut and relay the message to Alicia. She nods, and takes her stance to fight against the Asassin. To everyone's surprise, she launches the first attack, and soon they disappear into a flurry of movements.

"I don't like this," the boy says bluntly, and Bejo keeps the smile from appearing in his face.

"Look at her," he says instead. "Take a very good look, and tell me what you see."

The boys is silent for a while, before hesitantly says, "She looks...focused. Determined, even."

Bejo nods, and let the meaning sink on his Baseball Boy as the two watches their usually delicate and often aloft little girl turns into an unwavering fighter with every attacks.

"Stop," Bejo says, making the Assassin, and in turn Alicia, stop. "Tell Alicia she can pick her weapons."

Getting the message from her brother, Alicia walks into a nearby shelf and ponders for a while before reaching out and taking a pair of hammers into her hands. The boy's breath hitched, and Bejo glance at him questioningly.

"When she was four years old, that bastard killed our mother with a hammer," his Baseball Boy quietly explains. Then he shakes his head, "I don't get it."

"It could be a symbol, to show that she had overcome her weakness and her fear over him," Bejo offered. Right then, Alicia's hammer misses the Assassin's face by barely an inch, and somehow Bejo can't help but to feel proud. "You do know what this mean, don't you?"

"...You will send her on missions."

"Not without you. That way, you can protect each other better." He turns and stares right at his Baseball Boy. "Are you okay with that?"

The answer is barely a whisper, but he hears it nonetheless.

After another ten minutes, the Assassin finally knocks the hammer out of Alicia's hands and subdued her. Bejo looks at him questioningly, and he nods. She passed the test, then.

Slowly, Bejo extends his hand and beckoned at Alicia to come closer. She throws a questioning glance at her brother, and only when she got a nod does she approaches him. With a rare smile, Bejo gets down on one knee and takes off the eye mask over her right eye. Out of his breast pocket, he produces a pair of sunglasses and softly, he puts it on for her.

_"Well done, Alicia,"_ he says in sign language.

And for the first time in the last six months, for the first time in the last few years, she smiles brightly. A genuine, happy smile that lit up her face.

And for once, Bejo allows her to break through the wall around him as she hugs him in joy.

_No-one round here's good at keeping their eyes closed_  
_I don't ever think about death _  
_It's alright if you do, it's fine _

The assassin has been with Bejo for years now, nearly half a decade since they first met and yet he could still recall it with ease. It was during their younger days, when he was still naïve. He got on the wrong side of a considerably powerful gang during a bar fight, and ended up as a captive. Bejo was posted as his guard. Bejo was just a hot-blooded teenager back then, but ambitious nonetheless.

"They're going to kill you," was the first word that the younger ever said to him. He was leaning on the wall next to his prison, and with a grin he adds, "Shame, isn't it?" "Why do you care?" he asks, not amused.

"It's none of your business."

"I could argue against that," he chuckles. "It's my business, because I hate this shitty place and those brute who thinks they run the world when they're just a waste of air and space."

"Say, if I unchained you, would you help me eradicate them?"

"I don't kill," he flat out refused. He was still young back then, still carrying his father's belief that life is precious and he shouldn't take it away.

"I know. All you need to do is decapitate them, and I'll deliver the finishing blow."

He could live with that, he supposed.

Before the sun rise, they left the building with a trail of blood and destruction behind them.

"So, you're going back to your home?" Bejo asked, and he silently shook his head. He did not have a home. He left his house long ago to wander, like every man from Minangkabau did, and during that time his home was destroyed by fire. He hasn't come back ever since.

"Well, you could stay at mine. I don't mind."

That simple act of kindness sealed the bond between them.

Years passed, and he watched as the younger man grows into this clever and manipulative person. Watched as the younger climbs the rank in the underworld, and how he rise to power on his own. He came to know him well during all those years, and vice versa. He knows very well that Bejo always keep his emotions in check. The younger rarely loses his cool, and he's always in control in every situation.

But not now.

He watches carefully as Bejo crumples the piece of paper in his hand before throwing it away, a foreign expression marring his usually composed face.

He's livid. And for a good reason.

"Get your weapons," he snaps. "We're taking her back."

_We gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves _  
_Roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes_

He's not called the assassin without reason, and he always pride himself for his vast skills and agility, on how he could take down dozens of men with ease. How that, alongside his silent demeanor, got people often comparing him to the god of death. But he wasn't always like that, no.

Back then, when he first worked with Bejo, he did not kill. He might be covered in blood, but Bejo is always the one who actually took the life of their opponent.

It all changed in one unfortunate night, about one year after they met.

They were surrounded, but they always are, so they faced it with practiced ease. He would render their enemy useless, and Bejo would behead them with his sword. But he was negligent, and his reluctance to kill gave his supposedly decapitated enemy the chance to land a fatal blow on Bejo. He watched with wide eyes as Bejo staggered back, blood tainting the front of his white shirt. And he snapped.

He single-handedly finished everyone else that night. And ever since, he transformed to the Assassin that the world know.

But now, his credibility is being put to shame by the two men at his side. On his right, the Baseball Bat Boy - Man, he reminded himself. The boy's eighteen now, old enough to be a man - does not even blinks as he takes down men after men. His baseball bat making bone crunching noises with each swing, and he swings it around like he's possessed.

In front of them, Bejo is slashing through the horde of men around them, his blade moving in such speed that his opponent could only see a blur of silver before they died. Bejo keeps his shades on, and his face is placid, but the Assassin knows that underneath those shades, his eyes are burning with cold rage.

And as he breaks yet another neck, he realizes that he feels the same.

Like Bejo and the Baseball Bat Man, he's furious. He's burning with thirst to hurt, to kill, to lay waste on those bastards, because they dared to mess with the three of them. They dared, with that filthy hands of theirs, attacks Alicia and kidnapped her.

He doesn't know when the girl hammered her way into his otherwise cold heart, but she did.

And as one of her protectors, he swears that all of these brainless men would pay, would regret the day they decided to mess with the four of them.

_Now we're in the ring _  
_And we're coming for blood _

Bejo is the first one to reach Alicia, to no one's surprise, and he throws his sword-cane away in exchange of his beloved cutter to cut through the ties around her. Meanwhile, the Assassin and the Baseball Bat Man stands back to back, finishing the last bit of their enemies - the strongest tier. They rarely fought together, but they don't take long to adapt and rely on each other. He would duck on time and the Baseball Bat Man will deliver a finishing blow at the goons behind him, while he throws his Karambit and gutted the goons at the other side.

When the last man falls, they're both panting and covered in blood. But a small smile crept up on their face, and they exchange a breathless laugh. Something that he never thought would happen.

He could still remember his initial refusal when Bejo adopted the siblings. They're going to be a baggage, he argued, but Bejo dismissed him, saying that he saw something in them.

It took him two months, but he finally saw what Bejo see – the raw talents and determination. He saw it first on the boy, and then his sister. Later on, he saw the resemblance between the siblings and himself. They were both broken and alone in the world until Bejo saved them and bestowed them with this new life, where they're not only free but also taken care of. Little by little, he grew closer with the siblings, looking after them in his own way because he knew how hard it is to grow up without a family. Deep down, he suspect that Bejo also knew, and that's why he took the three of them under his wing.

His reverie is cut short when a shot rang out, and Bejo curses out loud. He and the Baseball Bat Man turn in alarm, only to found Bejo half-kneeling on the floor with Alicia's limp body on his hands, blood oozing from his right legs. Behind him, their enemy grins proudly from the second floor, obviously thinking that he's out of reach.

The Baseball Bat Man growls, and the Assassin let him take out his signature ball before hitting it with such force it ruined their enemy's face and send him flying for a good three meters. Meanwhile, Bejo has got back on his feet and limps towards them, still carrying Alicia. The Assassins offers him assistance, but he shrugs it off.

"Fuck it," Bejo grits his teeth before straightening up, not once letting his eyes strays from Alicia and her pale figure. "Let's go."

_You could try and take us _  
_But we're the gladiators _

Alicia walks inside the restaurant, fresh from bath. No sign of being covered in blood just a few minutes earlier. Inside, the Assassin is already waiting for her, lounging lazily on the couch. It's clear that his mission also ended well. He nods at her, and she returns it before sitting on her spot in the long after, her brother walks in, a frown in his face.

"I lost another ball," he tells the assassin in an annoyed tone. "I'm going to need to restock it soon."

The Assassin just rolls his eyes, and his brother scowl before sitting next to her, telling her about his annoyance through sign language. She can't help but to chuckles at his story. If he really didn't want to lose his precious balls, then he shouldn't have thrown it around just to show his perfect aim and prowess off.

Then the other door opens, and Bejo walks in.

_You could try and take us _  
_But victory's contagious _

As always, they keep their silence and focus solely on him whenever he's around. Their eyes carefully follow his every moment, especially the way he limps and how he had to lean on his cane for support.

It has been seven years since that accident, since he could no longer walks normally. Since his cane no longer became an accessories, but a vital part of him. Seven years since he last unsheathed the blade inside that cane, because he can no longer moves like he used to, and a short-ranged fight will only disadvantaged him more. Seven years, since shotgun became his preferred weapon, together with his cherished cutter that he only used in special occasions.

Seven years, since they all made a silent promise to get him to the top.

Whatever it takes.

Bejo might lose a leg, but he earns himself the undying loyalty of his three lieutenants.

"Butcher them," Bejo simply says, and the three nods in understanding.

They would kill for him, and they would die for him.

_Glory and gore go hand in hand _  
_That's why we're making headlines_


End file.
